


F.M.K.

by waitingtobedistributed



Series: Sherlolly Fun Size [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Jealous Sherlock, Light Angst, Sherlolly - Freeform, meddling Mary, mollock, well someone had to!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 14:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8717944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waitingtobedistributed/pseuds/waitingtobedistributed
Summary: The trip to the pub, post case, had been Mary’s idea. This was supposed to be a distraction, she thought, a chance for them to relax in each other’s company for a while. And who knew? Maybe after a few glasses of something strong, nature might take its course.Well fuck it. If nature wasn’t on form today, Mary was. Time to play a little party game..





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own anything and I don't have a beta. I know this isn't _exactly_ how you play the game, but work with Mary here - she's doing her best to get these two together!

 

Mary, exasperated, sat and watched them carry on at the same old nonsense yet again.

To her left sat Molly, politely sipping her Malibu and Coke, stopping occasionally to make small talk with Lestrade, all the while watching Sherlock from under her auburn lashes, staring at him balefully every time he looked away. She’d been down lately. Too down. The pressure of the Moriarty business had gotten to her – well, gotten to them all if Mary was really being honest with herself – but Molly had taken it all particularly badly. The ghost of a psychopathic ex-lover reappearing had that effect on a girl sometimes. But the real issue had been Sherlock’s exile – the one he’d failed to tell Molly about. It would seem that Molly Hooper, eternal optimist and hopeless romantic, had finally taken the hint. Sherlock Holmes didn’t give a shit about her.

Meanwhile, about four feet away to Mary’s right, sat Sherlock, nursing the same glass of beer he’d had for the last hour. Arms folded across his chest, he was attempting to disguise the furtive and longing looks that were cast in Dr Hooper’s direction every time she smiled. An equal but less successful attempt was also being made by the pining detective to disguise his bristling every time Lestrade spoke to Molly. He’d been down in the dumps too. Not about the Moriarty business, no, having a real puzzle to solve had made him gleeful to the point of insufferable over the last few months. Sherlock’s source of the blues came from an entirely different source. Molly. Their friendship was effectively over since she found out that he was leaving, never to return, and hadn’t bothered his plump arse to tell her he’d never be coming home again. Despite her sweet nature, Molly was not a woman to be trifled with and Sherlock, well, he’d kept his distance since his return.

The trip to the pub, post case, had been Mary’s idea. _This was supposed to be a distraction,_ she thought, _a chance for them to relax in each other’s company for a while. And who knew? Maybe after a few glasses of something strong, nature might take its course._

Well fuck it. If nature wasn’t on form today, Mary was. Time to play a little party game..

**~~~~~~~~~~~**

_Meanwhile on a pub bench four feet away…_

Sherlock was attempting to distract himself from the shameless and blatant flirting that was going on between Molly and Gavin. The Met’s finest had refilled her glass twice now – clearly an attempt to intoxicate her - and was openly pawing the seemingly not unwilling pathologist in an outrageous fashion. Every now and then Lestrade would lean over to whisper intimately in her ear, as though the sleepy pub were too loud to conduct a conversation at a respectable and decent distance. Resting his hand on her knee for good measure while they talked, Molly would grace him with a radiant and angelic smile in return.

There was a time when he had inspired those smiles, but no longer. She’d loved him once, and fool that he was, he hadn’t told her that he’d loved her too. It made no difference now, Lestrade had wormed his way into her good graces, and Sherlock had managed to fall out of them.

Sherlock sighed wistfully.

In an attempt to distract himself, he had deduced that the large breasted barmaid was stealing from the till, and that the landlord though he was in with a chance despite the fact that the buxom and underwear-less thief only had eyes for his wife. Clever tactic, Sherlock mused, who’d watch the till when there were other more interesting distractions to be had. Not that such an obvious ploy would work on every man. Sherlock himself preferred smaller breasts, ones that would fit neatly into the palm of his hand, ones that were pale and fragile just like the woman they belonged to.

 _Damnit. Damnit. Damnit._ Now he was thinking about Molly again. He rolled his eyes and took a deep breath trying to refocus. And just when he’d though he had managed the task a snippet of the group’s conversation caught his attention. Mary had just asked him something and he wasn’t sure if he’d heard it right...

“Say that again.”

“I said, Sherlock, it’s your turn. Me and John have gone already, now it’s your go.”

“To do what?”

“Fuck, Marry, Kill.”

“What on Earth are you talking about, woman?”

“Oh for God’s sake Sherlock, haven’t you been listening?”

“Of course not.”

“Right,” Mary sighed, “It’s a game. We each take turns saying who we’d fuck, who we’d marry or who we’d kill if we had no choice but to do those things.”

Oh. _OH._ This could be a dangerous game. While he’d quite like to hear Molly’s answers to those questions, he wasn’t quite sure he’d like Molly to hear the answer were those same questions posed to him. Or to Lestrade for that matter.

“This is a pointless game Mrs Watson. You already know who I’ve killed, you know I’m married to my work, and as for the...other, I don’t engage in that behaviour. My body is a mere appendage to my brain and has no need for pleasures of the flesh.”

Mary shook her head and took a swig of her G&T, “Not getting out of this Sherlock. You’re playing and that’s it. End of story.”

Sherlock pursed his lips together, “Fine. You want to know who I’d like to kill? Hmm? Usually that’s Mycroft, but right now, you’d do nicely.”

Mary preened with satisfaction.

“As for who I’d marry,” his eyes flicked to Molly for a split second, “there’s only ever been one logical choice. John.”

All at once, Lestrade shouted, “Oh my God, Really?!” Molly, blushing redder than a beetroot lowered her eyes to the floor, John sprayed himself with a mouthful of beer and exclaimed “Oh hell, no!” and, to her credit, Mary just smiled.

“Really? John?” The former assassin asked her husband’s best friend.

“Yes. Really.” Sherlock straightened his back and squared his shoulders, “I’ve long since admired John’s loyalty and affection for me-”

“ _Sherlock_.” Mary warned.

“John and I lived happily together at Baker Street, and during that time a closeness formed between us. Although entirely platonic at the time-”

“Fibbing, Sherlock.”

“Very well,” he harrumphed, “it would be advantageous to us both were John and I to be precluded from ever being forced to testify against the other given the level of illegal activities that we engage in. A convenient solution to an otherwise tricky problem.”

“And there it is,” Mary batted her lashes at her defeated friend.

“As for the last,” he fidgeted in his seat, swallowing hard when he looked at the petite woman currently sitting opposite him, her face mottled and still staring at the floor she gulped half her drink back in one go, “there’s only ever been one woman I’ve considered that I could be intimate with, but she doesn’t share my feelings any longer so it’s pointless to say.”

Just as Mary was about to remind him of the rules of the game, he beseeched, “Please Mary, don’t ask again.”

Sighing, she nodded, glancing over at Molly. “Alright.”

 _Thank you_ , Sherlock mouthed to her following the line of her sight to Molly who was still very deliberately not looking at the others.

“Okay!” Mrs Watson clapped her hands together, “Greg, you’re up.”

“Oh come on, Mary!”

“You really want to be known as less co-operative than Sherlock, hmm?”

Sensing there was no way out of it once Mary had made her mind up to do something, he gave in. “Right. Well. When you put it like that. I’d kill-”

“Anderson.” The group collectively said.

“Eh, yeah, right. I’d marry my ex-wife, I loved that girl to bits.”

“And…?” Mary prompted.

Sherlock braced himself, this was where even that fantasy of something with Molly would end, because Lestrade was about to say her name, and Molly would be flattered and realise that the flirtation they’d had with each other went deeper than she’d dared to hope. Once his feeling for her were confirmed she’d allow herself to fall, and that would be the end of Sherlock once and for all time.

“Go on,” Molly took Greg’s hand in hers and squeezed it, “I know what you’re going to say. And, well, if you can’t say it out loud amongst friends you’ve no chance.”

“But in front of Sherlock?”

“Makes no difference,” she leaned over and kissed his cheek, “everyone’s an adult here, it has nothing to do with him who fancies who, or who’s in love with who. And I’m not wrong, am I? It is love, isn’t it?”

Sherlock’s heart sank in his chest. Love. Molly wasn’t a cruel woman, she wouldn’t be encouraging him to admit it in front of his friends if she didn’t return his feelings. Every lost chance, every _should have been_ flashed before his eyes. He’d lost her now, and this time it would be for good.

Lestrade cleared his throat and took a deep breath, “Yeah, it is love. Right then. Mycroft Holmes.”

Sherlock’s lips parted and his eyelashes fluttered. “I’m sorry. What? Mycroft?”

“Well it’s, you know, sharp suits on blokes have the same effect on me as sexy lingerie on birds. Besides, he’s got that whole dominant and powerful thing goin’ on. He’s quite attractive, for a pale, freckly chap.”

“No he isn’t.” Sherlock scoffed.

“Well he is to me!” Greg responded emphatically.

“And this infatuation, it’s reciprocated?”

“I think so, yeah.” Lestrade said.

“Why you even consider him,” Sherlock quietly shuddered, “ _attractive_ is beyond me. It’s your life, be miserable if you want.”

Silence fell over the friends, and Sherlock signalled to the jiggling barmaid as the knot in his stomach loosened. Pointing to the bottle of Hennessy, he held up his hand with all five fingers splayed.

“Make them doubles,” Lestrade shouted over his shoulder and the blonde winked at him.

“She’s barking up the wrong tree there,” Sherlock grinned playfully.

Lestrade gave a self-conscious little smirk, toddling off to collect the drinks then placing one in front of each of the gathered group.

One revelation down, two to go. “Right,” said Mary, “That just leaves Molly.”

“I think we’ve had enough exposition for one night, don’t you?” Sherlock said.

“No,” Mary countered, “we haven’t. Come on Molly love,” she encouraged, “trust me on this.”

“It’s alright. I don’t mind,” Molly said. For the first time all night, she drew her chin up to look Sherlock right in the eye. “I’d kill Sherlock. I’ve faked it once, but there’s times when I want to do it for real.” Addressing him, and him alone, she asked him, “Don’t you know what you mean to us? To me? Yet you constantly put your life in danger, without ever a though of what it would do to us if we lost you. I spent every day of two years waking in the middle of the night, wondering if the next day would be the one where some stranger with an earpiece and a good suit would tell me you were gone. In my mind, you’d died a thousand times and every single one felt real to me. And then with no warning, you fuck off on a one way mission, never to return. I’ve mourned you so many times, and I just can’t take it anymore. So yeah, I want to kill you sometimes. If only so I would know for sure whether you’re dead or alive.”

“Molly-” Sherlock’s heart ached dully in his chest. It never occurred to him that he’d caused her so much pain.

“So, marry,” she continued. Now that she was finally getting it out, nothing was going to stop her. “Well everyone knows anyway, so I’m just going to say it. That’s Sherlock too, because, well fuck it, as much as I want to kill him is as much as I love him. He has the biggest heart of anyone I know, the man would die for his friends without a second thought. I know for a fact that he’d do anything to protect me. Not to mention that I love him more than anything or anyone else in the entire world. I’ve loved him from the moment I first laid eyes on him, and I’ve never stopped. I know you all make fun of me for it – poor, sad sack Molly, mooning around after a man who barely notices when she speaks. But there you have it, you can’t help who you love, and frankly I don’t want to even try.”

With a shaking hand, she picked up the glass that Greg had set before her only a few moments earlier, “And as for fuck, well,” she downed her brandy, draining the glass, “if you haven’t figured it out by now you all need to consider a change of career, because that would make you shit detectives, or undercover MI6 agents, or whatever the fuck it is that you all are.”

In as dignified a manner as she could, Molly stood and smoothed the wrinkles out of her clothes and swung her too large bag onto her shoulder. Heading for the door to escape the scene she’d made, with her back to her stunned friends, a shaky voice called her name.

“Molly. Stop. Wait.”

“Why, Sherlock? What’s there to wait for?”

When she turned around he stood. Flanked on either side by John and Greg, trapped behind the battered wooden table they’d all been sat around laughing and joking until suddenly things hadn’t been funny anymore.

“You- You’ve never said anything.” He looked heartbroken and a bit lost.

“What difference would it have made?”

“Every difference. I thought you’d left me behind, that you didn’t love me anymore.” Sherlock raked his hair in frustration, “While I was away you accepted another man.”

“I was trying to move on, to build something where I didn’t have to feel pathetic and lonely all the time, you know? I was tired of waiting for someone who might never come back to me. And even if he did, he’d never be with me.”

“I- I wanted to. It’s just..”

“Just what?”

“I didn’t know how.”

Speaking to Mary but not taking his eyes off Molly for even one moment, he said, “Ask me again.”

She gave him a questioning look, “What-?”

“Those three questions. Ask them again, and this time I’ll tell the truth.”

Mary grinned. _Ah-ha!!_ It had worked! With a self-satisfied smirk she asked, “Who would you marry, if you had to?”

“Molly Hooper,” he said boldly, “and not because I’d have to. She’s the only person in the world I’d ever really consider spending my life with. Next.”

“Fuck?”

He beamed, his cheeks tinged pink, “I’d be a faithful and attentive husband, if she’d see her way to having me.”

Mary watched Molly, whose expression had transformed from abject misery to pure joy. “Kill?”

“Any fool who ever tried to come between us.”

Around them their friends sat in stunned silence. John’s mouth hung open, his eyes darting between the pair who still stood, motionless, facing each other, their eyes locked. He cleared his throat, and barked a bemused laugh. Turning to his best friend, “I think I’m a bit hurt actually that you’ve thrown me over, mate.”

Sherlock frowned and pursed his lips at him, while Mary kicked him under the table. The _Shut up, you idiot,_ was strongly implied.

For a while no one else spoke, it can’t have been more than a few seconds, but it seemed to stretch out for an eternity.

It was the Consulting Detective who broke the silence. Cautiously he asked, “Well? Can you see your way to having me?”

Tears began to fall, her throat choked and swollen, Molly nodded enthusiastically, “Yes,” she rasped, “God, yes. A thousand times yes.”

Sherlock stepped on to and across the little table in one long stride almost upending it in the process, and rushed to her open and waiting arms. Pushing his hands into her hair he kissed her smiling lips, and whispered, “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long. I’m sorry for the stupid mistakes I’ve made. I love you, I love you, I love you...”   

“I love you too,” she breathed against his ecstatic grin.

“Would you like to go somewhere private to talk?” he asked.

“Talking isn’t what I feel like doing right now.” Molly held onto the lapels of his coat and gave him a less than innocent look.

Sherlock cocked one eyebrow, then swept her up into his arms. She squeaked a surprised laugh as he carried her through the doors, beginning to snog her senseless as they went. Disappearing into the night, the last their friends heard of the pair was Sherlock bellowing ‘TAXI!’, and Molly laughing as her soon to be lover whispered something in her ear.

It took all of two seconds for a hopeful Greg to tell Mary, “Fifty quid if you call Mycroft and get him over here to play that game again.”

“I like you enough to do it for free,” she winked, picking up her phone and dialling.

 


End file.
